hi tumblr!! i'm not too active on here anymore, but for interested parties, i recently started a nanami x reader here on ao3!!
if you're into any or all of the following: road trips / shitty motels / weird new england gas stations / nanami as a tired but well-intentioned detective who hates that he has the hots for you... then maybe give it a try???
don't be strangers! even though i don't post much these days i still check in semi-regularly and would love to hear from all my lovely folks x
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haven't been on tumblr in a min but i had to stop by when i saw you updated your nanami series. i've been having to do a lot of late nights lately and having your fic to read has been giving me something to look forward to when i need to wake up in the middle of the night these past few days :) hope you are well!!
aww hey rin!!! <3 i've missed you!! and i hope you're doing well too my friend (: WOW thank you so much for reading and it makes me glad to know i've provided a little entertainment for you to wake up with hahaha
hi i used to be a big reader of your fics a few years back and recently just recovered my account... i still remember one fic vividly because of how it changed my life back then and kinda rewired my brain,, immediately opened my account to find it but it seems you've deleted it aaaa.. it was a haikyuu fic titled "what love tastes like" i think.. not sure if you'll see this but is there anywhere else you've posted it to or is it gone forever :'D sorry for the long ask your writing was and is still so amazing
Omg wait no I still have it somewhere!!! I just like changed my blog name and fucked up my master lists so itâs kind of lost haha⌠let me go ahead and find the linkâŚ
đŹ 25  đ 154  â¤ď¸ 942 ¡ what love tastes like ¡ terushima yuuji x reader
synopsis: in which you learn that falling in love tastes like monste
i donât know if youâre still active on here but i just went through insane lengths to find your haikyuu headcanons and fics from years ago because they were my favorite ever and theyâre still as good as i remembered 6 years later.
the headcanons of what they eat for breakfast had me crying laughing in 2020 and they had me crying laughing today in 2026
just thought iâd lyk in case it means anything đŤś
Dude no yeah this genuinely made my day
I miss those boys like HELL!!!!!!! and their crazy diets JAJSJAJSDL
i always get insanely nostalgic for 2020/2021 tumblr so I am on here from time to time lol
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hi i used to be a big reader of your fics a few years back and recently just recovered my account... i still remember one fic vividly because of how it changed my life back then and kinda rewired my brain,, immediately opened my account to find it but it seems you've deleted it aaaa.. it was a haikyuu fic titled "what love tastes like" i think.. not sure if you'll see this but is there anywhere else you've posted it to or is it gone forever :'D sorry for the long ask your writing was and is still so amazing
Omg wait no I still have it somewhere!!! I just like changed my blog name and fucked up my master lists so itâs kind of lost haha⌠let me go ahead and find the linkâŚ
wc: 3.2k
content: exes!suguru, mentions of alc consumption, fem!presenting reader, suggestive(?) content, suguru being suguru
misc. notes: suguru seems to come to me at a very Me time in my life. in other words, i enjoy obsessive men more than i enjoy three meals a day :) feedback is appreciated always!
synopsis: you have been trying very, very hard to be normal. suguru always seems to strip all that away with a single glance.
suguruâs apartment looks exactly like you remember.
heâs always liked to keep things tidy. shoes placed neatly on the rack and arranged by occasion, winter coats hung on the hook next to the door. the vase of diffuser sticks fills the apartment with the familiar scent of bergamot and sandalwoodâcitrus-y with a creamy comforting finish. picture perfect, just like always.
you remember it, even if itâs been 5 years. you remember it well.
âsorry for the intrusion,â you say sheepishly. itâs the first thing youâve said since he picked you up from the bar. at least you can say you feel some shame, especially after the events of tonight.Â
suguru shoots a look at you, quick but piercing. âyou know i donât mind.â
âi know but stillâŚâ youâre still pressed to the doorway, fiddling with the end of your scarf. maybe your apology shouldnât be a surprise at all, considering how being with suguru always made you feel some innate sense of shame. like you were somewhere you didnât belongâa messy stain smeared on his picture perfect life. a light leak, streaked and splotched on a film strip.
itâs why you had ended things with him in the first place, but maybe you should have remembered that before youâd called him in a drunken stupor asking him to pick you up.
(âsuguru.â the line goes quiet. the leftover lime tastes stale in your mouth. âdo you remember me?â)
he calls your name, light and soothing. you turn to him, ready to bite the bullet and pay the inflated price for an uber ride home, and your stomach drops at the sight: suguru, kneeling before you at the edge of the genkan, hand splayed out and offering.Â
âcome on,â he continues, a glint in his eye. knowing, teasing, a little smug, as if to say, you remember what to do, donât you? âjust like old times, right?â
your breath comes out quick, cheeks flushed and burning, but you step forward one step, then two. your hands brace against his shoulders as he reaches for your right foot, gently prying your heel off. like pavlovâs dog, mouth watering at the ringing of a bell.
suguru looks a little different nowâolder, sharper, more mature. his hair has gotten longer, opting to leave it down today rather than the bun he liked to wear throughout university. though, youâre sure itâs only because youâd caught him at an inopportune time. who would be prepared to get a call from their ex at 1am on a thursday night?
guilt creeps into your stomach again at the thought. you try to scan his face for any weariness in his eyes, the way he blinks slow when heâs running off too-little hours of sleep. there are things you still know about him, after all, things youâre sure havenât changed even in half a decade. his eyes are still the same color, dark in the way they swallow light. his ears are still pierced with the same black studs, a little bigger than they used to be. youâre starting to take inventory in the silence, you realize. marking things you remember, jotting down the new changes heâd made without you.
suguru looks up at you then, left foot in hand, newly bare, and you realize heâs taking inventory of you too. he rubs a thumb absentmindedly against the ball of your foot, right where it always aches at the end of the day.
âso you still wear these?â he asks, looking down at the black pump in his other hand. âyou always get blisters from them.â
and you did, from wearing them two nights agoâtheyâre still healing. youâd taped bandaids over them in the meantime, covered with extra padding by the stockings you wore tonight. almost enough for you to forget that the wound existed, just enough for you to ignore it ever happened.
âoh,â suguru says, brushing over the silhouette of the bandaid on your pinky toe. he stops where the plaster begins, then ghosts over where it ends. âi see.â
you pull your foot away from him, planting it on the cold tile and standing a little straighter. suguru looks up at you, knowingly. you resist the urge to counter with a lame excuse.Â
(âi donât understand why you always wear these,â suguru gently scolds, squeezing the neosporin over the blossoming blister. âyou just get hurt.â)
you never knew how to tell him you always endured it because of the way it made you look: prim, perfect, polished. even if it was superficial and stupid, itâs why you never minded carrying around a pack of bandaids around, even if you couldnât walk right for a few days after. but you know heâd look at you in a way that would make you feel ashamed for thinking such a thing, so youâve kept it balled up and tucked away inside of you until now.
you fight off the embarrassment that floods into your chest, playing with the edge of your skirt. âiâŚâ
âcome inside,â suguru says, standing up. he takes the ends of your scarf between his hands, unfurling the knot. unwinding-winding-winding. âitâs warmer in here.â
gnawing on your inner cheek, you look between him and the heels heâd just taken off of you, tucked neatly against the wall next to his pair of black loafers. you think about reaching down and putting them on again, but the coldness of the tile makes the blisters on your feet feel even more tender than usual, even through the layers of your socks and the bandaids in between. your resolve for appearances always did seem to waver, whenever suguru was concerned.
you take a deep breath. you follow him inside.
âwater?â he offers. a courtesyâhe would give you a glass even if you said no. you spare the pretense for both of your sakes.
âplease, thank you.â
suguru motions to the couch for you to sit, grabbing a glass from the cupboard. you nestle yourself into the far edge of the couch, pressed against the armrest, and you take the moment heâs looking away to take a visual tour of the apartment. his one bed wasnât anything extravagant and certainly a far cry from anything someone like satoru would choose for residence, but it was cozy. neat, but comfortable.
he joins you soon after, handing the water to you silently. you sip on it awkwardly, glancing over at him as he sits on the opposite end of the couch.
âyou wanna change?â suguru asks, breaking the silence. âi have some old shirts you might be able toââ
âno!â you jump, surprised at your own outburst. âno, thatâs fine iâll just⌠itâs fine.â
suguru tilts his head at you, something unreadable in his eyes. you swallow the embarrassment down, pressing yourself closer into the couch cushion. it was bad enough, being back here like this; youâre not sure you could stomach borrowing his clothes and smelling his fabric softener and sleeping in his home like nothing had changed, and then wake up the next morning and remember that everything has.
âhowâs your boyfriend?â he asks suddenly. âtakeru⌠takashiâŚ?â
âtakezo,â you correct, with more heat than you intended. and then you stiffen, your head snapping to his. âhowâd you know about him?â
suguru looks at you wryly. âif you remember, we still share the same friends. shoko brought it up a couple months ago, when everyone was over for a drink.â
did you ask about me? the question buoys to the front of your mind before you push it back down. did you want him to, even after the way things ended?
âheâs good,â you say eventually. the thought of him makes you remember the tequila barely settled into your stomach, and you quickly change the topic. âhowâs your girlfriend?â
âgirlfriend?â suguru echoes, amused. âi think we both know shoko would have told you if i had one, no?â
âthatâs notâŚâ you begin, but it fades away lamely at the look suguru gives you. shoko ieiriâ26, first year resident, professional double agent. an expected title, but a betrayal nonetheless. you make a note to chew her out next time you see her. âyou say that like iâm keeping tabs on you.â
suguru leans back and laughs where his smile reaches his eyes, and your stomach swoops. âi wouldnât mind if you were.â
âiâm not!â the reply comes too quick, too insistent. shoko had given up the information freely, though it was mostly the loose lips she would get after her third round of beer and reading between the lines, but the thought appears again, more incessant than the last time. you try to imagine yourself being brave enough to ask it. is it because you were keeping tabs on me too? did you still care enough to wonder how i was, what i was doing?
any scenario you can imagine of you asking that ends with you wading into waters too deep for you to swim out of. you fidget with the edge of your skirt, pulling it as far down as you can. suguru is watching you, like heâs always done; his gaze has always had a knifeâs edge to them, taking you in and flaying you bare. you never got used to being picked apart so carefullyâsometimes you wondered if he could read your mind, if he looked hard enough. you had decided to run away before he could prove that theory.
âare you sure you donât want spare clothes?â he asks again, gesturing to your sweater and skirt. âiâm not sure if what you have right now will be the most comfortable.â
this again? âwhat are you doing?â
âiâm being a good host,â he states plainly, raising a brow. âtrying to, at least. what are you doing?â
âwhat do you mean?â you huff. âiââ
your name always sounded soft off suguruâs tongue. like each syllable had been shaped and smoothed over delicately before he spoke it into the air. like there was no other way to be with you but gentle. âwhat were you doing tonight, at that bar?â
âwhat, i canât go drinking now?â
âyou never drink alone.â
âsince when?â
âsince iâve known you.â
âa lot has changed since youâve known me.â
thereâs a brief pause, and his eyes flicker, like youâd said something wrongâsomething hurtful. you straighten your back, petulant and shoving down the guilt. you didnât say anything untrue.
âyou said,â suguru starts, patient and knowing. âit makes you feel lonely. and you hate feeling lonely.â the look in his eyes is gone as fast as it came. âwhy else would you call me?â
âi neverâŚâ your heart pounds in your ears. âthatâs notâŚâ and you give up. if you had some more fight in you, maybe you could try arguing for a few seconds longer, but the night has grown weary on your bones, and suguru has always had a way of making you feel like a lone leaf, stripped bare and blowing in the autumn wind. âokay. fine.âÂ
you wiggle your toes trying to get some feeling back inside them, still cold and stiff from their nightlong bout outside. âi got dumped.â
suguru blinksâat least, you think he does. you push down enough shame to drag your gaze from the floor to see him staring back at you with an unreadable expression. âyou?â
your mouth flattens into a line. âyes, me. are you making fun of me?â
âof course not,â he says, and you know he means it. âwhat happened?â
âhe said i was too boring. too plain.â the words feel hollow, ping-ponging around in your head. âhe found someone else.â
the rest is unsaid, but by the way suguru shifts straighter in his seat and gets a stony look in his eye, he can hear it without the humiliation of you saying it out loud. he cheated on me, and i knew, and i let him, because she was tall and beautiful and perfect and everything i wasnât.
she was a perfect fit for takezo, who just wanted something pretty and amiable to hang off his arm. you had thought you were good at that role too, being quiet and obedient and doing whatever he had wanted from you, but you suppose it wasnât good enough to make him want to stay. sometimes you wondered what it was you lacked, what it was you could do betterâbut it was all pointless in the end. this was what you were best suited for, after all, this half-hearted display of affection that you had grown comfortable with.
that was the problem with suguru. he had given everything to you so easily and openly that you were always waiting to see what the catch wasâwaiting to see when he would see there was nothing more to you than what was in front of him, when he would get tired of the sight and leave. you think someone like takezoâs new girlfriend would have suited suguru too; she would have fit in perfectly in this tidy, neat apartment like it was her own. she wouldnât have looked like a stain he would have to scrub out.
but then you think of the night you had broken it off. the way he had looked at you, the way he had let you have your way so easily.
(why? / iâm tired of this, suguru. of you. /
a lie. a funhouse mirror, warped and twisted. the only time you lie to himâthe only time he lets you get away with it. your act of bravery. your act of cowardice.)
âyou were right,â you say softly. thatâs the funny thing, wasnât he always? âi called you cause i was lonely. and iâŚâ you swallow hard. âi didnât know who else to call.â
suguru pauses. and then, simply, âyou still have my number.â
was that a normal thing people do? delete their exesâ numbers? youâre not quite sure. suguru was the first and only ex that ever mattered. âshokoâŚâ you say lamely, and the bad excuse is as good as an admission of guilt.
suguru has inched closer while you werenât looking, fingers encroaching on the edge of your couch cushion. closerâthe fabric rustlesâcloserâthe armrest meets the small of your back, your spine following its curve.
the light halos around his frame, his silhouette warm and features dark as he looms over you. his arm plants itself by your head, his other hand resting all too familiar on your thigh. thereâs an endlessness to his eyes, like if you stare into them for too long heâll swallow you whole. you wonder if this is what hunger looks like.
âyou missed me.â a statement, a fact, something you canât deny any longer. (like this: you never drink alone; you get lonely when youâre drunk; you still have his number; you missed him.) âi missed you,â he adds. another truth. and then he amends, âi miss you. every second of every day.â he leans into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. âeven now, with you in front of me.â
âiââ
âi treated you well, didnât i?â his knee shifts forward, electric as it nudges its way between your thighs. âno one can treat you as well as i can, especially those assholes you keep calling boyfriends.â
âyou treat me too well.â you squeeze your eyes shut, his shirt grasped tightly between your fingers. push him awayâpull him in closerâyell at himâdrag his scent into your lungsâyou miss him you misshimyoumisshim. âi donât know howâiâve never known how to repay you.â
ârepay me?â suguru laughs, amber eyes turning molten honey. his thumb rubs circles into the side of your waist. âwhat is there to repay? iâve only just ever wanted you.â
your gut twists, gripping his shirt tighter. âitâs because youâre always like this that you make things so difficult!â
âwhy would i make things difficult?â he asks, his thumb slipping beneath the hem of your sweater. âmy job is to make everything in your life easier for you, donât you remember?â
youâre a fraying ball of yarn, caught in his freshly sharpened claws. heat pools in your tummy, resisting the urge to whine as his palm splays flat against your stomach. his hand is warm. suguru always ran cold, unless he was with you. you remember this too.
and really, memory was the crux of the issue wasnât it? you remembered his number, you remembered his habits, you remember everything clearly enough to know that nothing has truly changed, at least, not the things that truly mattered. there was you, and there was suguru, and still, after all this time, suguru is the only one who has loved you right. and, still, the only you that has ever existed has only ever loved suguru.
his shirt loosens in your fingertips. your hands absentmindedly smooth over the wrinkles, drifting up to cup his face in your palms. suguruâs eyes widen, body stilling. your legs shift ever so slightly. âyouâre right.â you can barely hear yourself. âyou did make things easier. you always did.â
your eyes scan over his face, taking everything in. his hair tickles your face, soft and gentle. thereâs stubble starting to grow on his jaw that you know heâll shave off first thing tomorrow morning. you can already smell the aftershave. the offer is open in the air, his weight heavy against your body. all you have to do is say yes, you know this much.
(your act of cowardice / your act of bravery.)
you pull him in and you close your eyes. part your lips. you feel a warmth press against your forehead, your hair brushed away from your face, and your eyes open in surprise. suguru ghosts a thumb over your lips, eyes flickering over them twice before he sighs. the weight disappears from your body, and you feel degrees cooler than you were moments ago. you lie there, watching him fix your clothes before he smiles, clean and neat and polished.
âitâs late,â suguru says. âiâll leave you the spare clothes on the bed, okay? showerâs open if you want to use it.â
you blink at him. âwait, iââ
suguru reaches for his phone on the table, tapping the screen absently while he adds on, âand iâll sleep on the couch tonight, so if you need anything just askââ
âsuguru,â you blurt, your hand shooting out to grab the sleeve of his shirt. he pauses, turning back to you. suguru always did this to you, made you lose any sense of rationality you had in you. but then again, heâd always said that he was happy to do all your hard thinking for you, too. âi⌠are we going toâŚâ
suguru smiles, walking closer until you can smell the leftover cologne on his clothes again. he puts a soft hand on your head, tilting it for you to look up at him. âitâs late,â suguru repeats. âweâll talk about this in the morning, when youâre fully sober.â
you press your lips into a line. âi amââ
âtomorrow,â he says again. âi want you to remember this right.â
this, he says. everything, he means. the defeat is loud enough for you to keep quiet.
and then, gently, he cups your face and looks at youâlike clear glass, like an open doorway. âyou know,â he says, something in his smile like relief and familiarity andâ (love). âyou finally said my name, just now.â
suguru, suguru, suguru. it had made a home in your head for years now, stuck being thought and repeated in your mind all this time. you hadnât realized youâd missed saying it too.Â
hehe this is so stupid, but i always imagine the pfp of someone's work to be the one writing. so i just see kageyama for yours, and it cracks me up bc it's so silly, and your work is absolutely beautiful!
I love this
& thank u!!!! it's awesome seeing people continue to find stuff I wrote such a long time ago lol
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obsessed with roommate!gojo whoâs been overly touchy since the beginning⌠casual touches to the lower back as he scoots around you in the kitchen, long hugs after a hard day at work, reaching over to wipe the corner of your mouth during dinner, all with an annoyingly sweet smile and a diminutive nickname. but the moment things start heating up between youâthe moment thereâs that new tension, that recognition of new potentialâheâs suddenly TERRIFIED to touch you. he avoids your touch like the plague, not even letting his fingertips touch yours when he passes you the salt. and god, no, itâs not because he doesnât want to touch youâheâs dying for it. he wants to bury himself in you, drown himself in your smell, your taste, your feel. he feels like a fucking creep, because itâs so early, and you were always supposed to be just a roommate, and god, heâs never felt this way before and how do you feel about him and what does it all even mean?
gojo isnât avoiding your touch because he wants to. itâs because heâs waitingâwhen he starts touching you again, he can feel it in his guts that he wonât be able to stop.
I wish I could write something for choso but when I read stuff for him half the time itâs like, oddly infantilizing and i start feeling weird about wanting to write for him
itâs not a big, grand gesture that brings osamu to his knees. nor is it some sudden epiphany, or a celestial voice breaking through the heavens to boom, âmiya, youâre in love.â
osamu realizes heâs in love so slowly that he doesnât actually realize it until the two of you are standing in the kitchen, and the walls are painted dill green, and thereâs a mint plant on the windowsill and weird, abstract artwork on the counter â and you. you in all your bare-legged, white t-shirt, old cotton panties glory. you with your bedhead and hoarse morning voice, and him with his bleary eyes and spider-man boxers.
the night before, youâd yelled at him for forgetting to take out the trash, and heâd called you âinsufferableâ because heâd heard the word in a song once, and then youâd gasped and walked away and osamu had almost chased you â but he didnât. ânever leave a fight unresolvedâ his ass, heâd deal with it in the morning.
so heâd gone to bed, and then, well, then it was morning and heâd wakened with you in his arms, breathing softly and smelling like the mango-lavender shampoo you picked out together. and when your eyes cracked open and you grinned, osamu damn near forgot what the word âinsufferableâ even meant. âangelicâ was more like it.
so now itâs 7:47 am and his cherub of a girl is pouring his coffee and stirring exactly a teaspoon and a half of sugar into it, and sheâs blowing away the steam before sliding it across the counter, and osamu is realizing heâs in love. itâs a whisper in the back of his brain, soft but insistent, filling up the cracks and making a home in his heart. so when the clock strikes 8 and youâre pulling on your work clothes, when youâre ducking out the door, he grabs your arm.
âosamu?â
and thereâs nothing he can do about it, because now he knows heâs in love.
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petition for women to stop saying âsilly little outfitsâ and âsilly little workoutsâ and âsilly little treatsââŚâŚ GIRL why infantilize urself?!?! society already does enough of that